Locked in a tower
by Delores Wilson
Summary: This is loosely based on Rapunzel, though she isn't the pathetic girly princess that she's usually portrayed to be!


The princess sighed. The contest was becoming most strenuous. Not one of the princes, knights or Lords had managed to complete the first task – climbing the ivy her mother had insisted upon planting at the foot of the tower nineteen years ago. She yawned and looked in the mirror on the wall, when a voice called gently to her. 'Princess?' She was just about to turn and shout out in a loud voice, when she remembered that she was supposed to be a lady. 'Yes?' she twittered in an almost twinkling fashion. She leaned out of the window, pushing her hair out of her face. A knight was clinging onto the ivy about halfway up the tower. He looked frightfully dizzy and quite afraid. But, nevertheless he was holding on quite firmly, and advancing, inch by inch towards her. 'Yes?' she repeated, getting annoyed. What was it he wanted? If he thought that this was tough, had hadn't seen anything yet – and this wasn't exactly a breeze for her either. Her mother, the Queen had removed her wolfhound, and had replaced it with a 'cute' kitten, which was cowering in the corner – it had vertigo. Her magazines and royal finger-paints had been swapped for watercolour paints with long ivory-handled brushes. She had also been supplied with needlework and a handkerchief (plain white) for waving with. She had managed to sneak a crossword puzzle with her inside her watercolour book, and had filled in all the answers except for 17 across (which was quite alright really, as no one could ever do that one). The princess looked down on the scene. Her mother, father, aunt and the local priest were sitting at a large table covered in cloths. They were each equipped with a clipboard and pen for giving marks to the applicants. As well as them, about one hundred princes, lords, counts, dukes and knights were milling around, having a chat – but all wanting the same thing – to win the contest and take away the prize – her hand in marriage. The princess thought that this phrase was silly, as she wanted to keep her hand. If she would marry someone they would have to take the whole of her, not just below her wrist. She sighed dreamily. Maybe one of these men would be nice. There were at least a hundred of them; surely she would like one of them? She shook her head, and then looked down at the knight below her. His helmet was jaunty and his sword was at a dodgy angle. His armour was dented a little, and he was swaying slightly. 'Princess,' he was moaning a little. He looked like he was going to be sick. 'Princess,' he repeated, 'let down your hair.' She looked at him. Was he mad? He didn't really think she was going to throw him her long, beautiful, glossy hair and have it pulled on, scraped and made dirty? She told him this and he almost let go of the brightly painted trellis. 'But you have to let down your hair! It's part of the story!' 'Not this one mate.' She walked away from the window and looked in the mirror again. Her face really showed how she felt. Tired, worn out, hungry. Now she thought about it, she was hungry. The cat had eaten the last bit of food, and quite frankly the princess was sick of it. She picked it up and stared at it. 'Look here,' she said crossly, 'that food was for me, and you've eaten it all! I don't know what to do with you!' Upset and distraught by her words and the height, the cat made a leap for it, out of the small window. Uh oh, thought the princess. 'Kitty,' she cried out delicately. The kitten was increasing speed now. Down, down, down it fell. It began to meow, and she felt rather sorry for it. It wasn't the cat's fault this was happening, and now it was going to die. She couldn't help it; she began to cry. She watched it spin in the air, hurtling towards an almost certain death.  
  
The knight's squire was standing at the foot of the tower. He had seen the dot of the princess appear at the window, while the obviously ill knight (Sir Guffalot) was halfway up. The squire thought about this. What was going on up there? It was quite intriguing. He felt a great amount of pity for the princess, stuck up there with nothing but a kitten for company. He then thought about his position. He was quite surprised that he was allowed to be there, being only a squire for a knight who obviously didn't need one for this. He just wanted to look rich, having a squire. Matthew was twenty, and still only a squire. His parents had secluded him from their activities for pure shame had washed them over, but he knew he would make it. He had fire in his heart, burning there unstoppable, ablaze forever. Suddenly, a dot was falling. A very small dot, but a dot at least. The princess! No, it was too small. Sir Guffalot leapt away from the hurtling object, which was speeding up as it fell. The princess appeared at the window, staring after it, obviously quite distraught about it. The kitten! That would be it! Matthew leapt at the ivy climbing as he'd never climbed before. The kitten was coming into view now – the poor thing was in obvious shock and fear. The squire reached out, ten feet from the ground, and caught the kitten, still wailing, in his glove. He heard a squeal from the princess who had blatantly seen the catch. The Queen looked at him in surprise. 'An honourable gesture Sir...?' 'Oh, I am not yet a knight fair Queen, but a squire, here with my master, to serve him fair and true.' He bent down on one knee and kissed the Queen's hand. She looked at him and smiled. He was a good man, and he was about to get what he deserved. She lifted her husband's sword high, then plunged it, into the ground next to Matthew. The priest came over and blessed it. Sir Guffalot had climbed down quickly (his weight had been a great help) and came to investigate the scene. 'What's up Queenie?' he joked. Then, seeing her face he hung his head and fell to one knee. 'Your Majesty.' She nodded and he rose. 'I am going to knight your squire. It was a chivalrous act and deserves recognition. He shall be Sir...?' 'Matthew.' 'Matthew, of...?' 'Weybridge.' 'Weybridge, yes.' She looked at Matthew and smiled at him again. 'Brave Matthew, before just a squire, but now, you will become, under the presence of God and these witnesses around, a knight. Rise, Sir Matthew of Weybridge.' Matthew stood, and was given a sword by the Queen. The King strode over. You rescued the kitten of my daughter, and for that I am grateful. Please, accept this as my gift to you...' Everyone gasped – had Matthew won the contest? '... My armour, shield and the sword my wife has presented you with, for you to fight and defend, courageous and true.' The King walked away and the Queen produced a form. 'A late contender? Never mind. Just fill in these forms Sir and you may attempt the first challenge.' Matthew hurriedly filled in the forms and collected Sir Guffalot's signature before walking over to the ivy. He climbed more slowly than last time, but quicker than the other knights. He stopped halfway up. 'He's not going to make it,' said the Queen sadly. But suddenly, Matthew leapt into life. He sprung up the other half and stepped into the top of the tower.  
  
The princess had been observing this. She had seen Matthew save the kitten and collect Sir Guffalot's pendant, which he had left when he climbed hastily down. She saw her mother knight Matthew and had seen him fill in the form. She couldn't see his face properly, but she expected he would be ugly, because that was always the way. Nice people were always ugly weren't they? Apart from princesses, who had to all be pretty. She did not know his name, but when she heard a scuffle at the windowsill, she ran over to see him, as she had lost interest in his actions halfway up the tower. 'Kind Sir, what is your business here?' 'Fair maiden, I have come to let you down from your tower.' 'The door was locked.' 'I guessed there would be something. I wouldn't stay up here all day, and I'm quite sure that you're no fool.' The princess blushed at this comment, but felt quite curious. The man had not lifted his helmet, and his personality was quite perfect. He was polite and charming. No one had ever called her an intellectual before, which he had obviously done with his earlier comment. 'Remove your helmet Sir.' Her curiosity had got the better of her – she had to see his face. Matthew removed his helmet and saw her properly for the first time. He fell to his knee and kissed her on the hand. 'Sweet lady, we must go to the foot of the tower, as your mother is quite worried about you.' 'Sir, you are too kind. But I cannot climb? How will I get down?' This statement wasn't true. There was nothing the princess enjoyed more than climbing trees and plants. She was sure that the knight knew this for she had seen him before. 'Sir?' 'Matthew.' 'Matthew? Are you the son of the cousins of the count and countess du brouillarde?' 'I am lady.' He stood and bowed his head to her. 'I promised that I'd return.' The princess hugged Matthew. 'It is you I have been waiting for all these years. I have loved you and never forgotten the times from the castle d'Arromanches. Our parents were cruel to us, and we have reunited. Come Matthew, let us go to our King.' The princess put her arms around his neck as he lifted her with one hand, while using the other to carefully climb out onto the ivy. He climbed down and put her on the grass in front of the judge panel. She had not got a cut of scratch on her, and her clothes were in perfect condition. 'Sir Matthew wins the first round,' called out the King. 'Wait!' cried the princess. 'This is Matthew, from the castle d'Arromanches. I have loved him for seven years, and nothing will separate us now.' She turned to Matthew. 'I love you.' Matthew looked at the King, who gave the slightest nod to him. Matthew turned back to the princess. He knelt in front of her. 'Sweet lady, will you be mine?' 'That Sir, I will,' she replied. All of the knights went wild. They didn't care that the princess wasn't theirs, but she was happy. Everyone cheered and a large party was held on the spot. Royalty from all over the world suddenly arrived and the marriage happened there and then. The (now) prince and princess lived happily ever after, and their reign was a good and joyous one.  
  
The End  
  
Before anyone gets picky, I just like the name Matthew, and Weybridge sounds more posh that Walton OK? Don't split hairs over this one (Lorna, this means you! Hehe) 


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